


immunity

by moonvalentine



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Canon Universe, Kissing, M/M, Secret Relationship, a kurusu kissaroo from me to u
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23729497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonvalentine/pseuds/moonvalentine
Summary: Akechi’s life was an exercise in control. Living with eyes wide open, hands covered to hide the blood, gaze on the floor to hide himself. There was never this — never a relinquishing, never a room that wasn’t his, never a breath inside his own.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 2
Kudos: 110





	immunity

**Author's Note:**

> written for my pal! no p5 royal spoilerz please, i am still not finished but will be soon enough. i am positively DYING at all the new akechi content they put in though PLEASE JESUS. i cannot wait to see where they take my GOOD BOY!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> comments are big appreciated  
> xo  
> -

-

Each night was something new, something slow and golden. Honey. On his face, on his skin, in his mouth. Sweet, languid honey, melting over him, holding him captive to the feeling.

He heard Akira inhale a long breath, nose against his jaw, and then it was nudging against his earlobe. Akechi felt his fingers tremble against the broad, thin plane of Akira’s back. 

What... _was_ this? Besides the open-mouthed pants that left the space behind his teeth in embarrassing succession, besides the phantom touches of lips to his cheek, besides the falling, pressing, floating into nothing, into the flat mattress beneath him — what was this? Besides surrender, there was no other word, no other memory or sensation to ascribe to it. It was a shaking void, magnetism of a single mind; it was light and scent and sound. It was everything at once. 

Akira’s fingers slid between the bed and Akechi’s head, threading into his hair with a little pressure. There was kindness in the motion, a gentle touch, but there was heat in his palm, intention in the thumb pressing curiously at the space beneath his other ear. A sigh floated somewhere into the space between them. 

Akechi’s life was an exercise in control. Living with eyes wide open, hands covered to hide the blood, gaze on the floor to hide himself. There was never this — never a relinquishing, never a room that wasn’t his, never a breath inside his own. Never thrill. Never _intimacy._ Never — 

“Can I?” Akira asked, eyes drunken and black, hair hanging low enough to shade them. Akechi could see a faint silhouette of his own features reflecting off the lens of his glasses. His own eyes, new as a dove, lashes trembling like its wings. He slid a hand up Akira’s back, hot on the scratch of his uniform shirt, and with careful fingers removed them, sliding the frames down the bridge of his nose. They were so close that his knuckles brushed his own cheek as he set the glasses carefully on the ledge of the window, the same careful tenor to the motion as dismantling a bomb. 

He was unprepared for what came next. He was unprepared for all of this, every second of it, but — the look that was waiting for him, that stare of someone here for never more or less than the moment; the look of someone who knew what he wanted, the pattering sounds of life in the shop downstairs or the cat traipsing across the roof above them be damned — it was breathtaking. Akechi licked his lips, the longing ringing clear and terrifying everywhere inside, and Akira watched his mouth as he did. 

“Akechi?” he whispered, because Akechi had forgotten the question. Permission to — something. No more conversation. Not past this line they’d crossed. 

Dark eyes on his mouth. Dark eyes on his own. Not a question, then, but he had the answer. He’d had it for longer than he could ever admit.

“Please,” he whispered in return, and Akira nodded once, obliging him. 

It started with their lips soft, hesitant, meeting in a tender lock, and it burst like a raindrop, a shimmering spatter of euphoria, a freefall so vivid it pulled deep in his stomach. There was no distortion, no blackened heart as cavernous, as unholy as this feeling, so selfish and sweet. There was only him and this boy he was helplessly, inexplicably drawn to, this quick and subtle slip who’d taught Akechi all he did not know. Akira was the same as him: a boy who didn’t belong, too smart for his own good, always searching for the truth. If this was it, if this was what they sought, then — then — 

He slid his arms tighter around the solid warmth of the body hovering above him, bringing Akira’s chest to his own. Heartbeat to heartbeat. He was unable to pinpoint the places where they ended and began. He felt Akira press in closer, his elbows finding the hard mattress, and tilt his head into the kiss. The weight on him — _press me into this, into you, until I don’t exist_ — 

Hot salt and honey on his tongue, bitter coffee between his teeth. Their mouths were open, sharing the taste of them two _,_ of their breath and their life, the moment they existed in, the glory of taking it for themselves. A noise drew itself in the back of Akechi’s throat, desperate in a way he didn’t know he knew. Akira only pressed in further, the bed beneath them giving a weak groan like it sympathized. 

It was an infinite evening, suspended perfectly in time. Slick-sweet, coffee-tinted and fragrant; the drag of his sharp ankle over the back of Akira’s leg, cotton sock against polyester pants; the sparkle of fine attic dust in the glow from the streetlamp outside, caught in spare seconds between pauses for catching breath, brief but still too long; the quiet that surrounded them where warmth did not. There was so much they had yet to know about each other, so much Akechi was hiding and was sure Akira was too, but it winked like a distant star, too far away from touch and taste and together to bother. 

He tugged Akira’s lip between his own, feeling teeth scrape against him and a shiver dart through the muscles of his neck. Hands tangled in his hair, fingers brushing gingerly, absently at his throat. 

He wanted nothing more than this. He wanted so much more than this. 

But he couldn’t. They lived a life that ended, where things ended because someone else said they had to. He didn’t know how much time passed before the distinct clang of dishes sounded beneath them, or little claws scratched at the murky glass of the window, or before Sojiro gave either a very polite or a very pointed _goodnight_ from the bottom of the stairs and left with the twinkling sound of the shop door’s chimes. 

“Akira,” Akechi all but whined into the mouth on his. “I — ”

Akira was following the shapes of his words, though, and Akechi couldn’t help but dissolve back into it, the space between the walls of two arms and a canopy of shoulders and black hair. He didn’t want what lay on the other side of this — that cold life of celebrity, that unfeeling world of the other side or the things he did there. 

“I really” — another press against his lips — “I should really — ” And then there was a high, secret sound leaving him, a gasp and a pant all at once, his whole self protesting the thought of what came with the rest of that sentence, alight with bittersweet pleasure. They couldn’t untangle, it seemed. 

And yet, they did. Soon enough, Akira finally leaned off of him with a single chaste kiss, a bow on top of the rest of the night, and Akechi did not move but to bend a knee closer to himself and to drape an arm over his fevered eyes. God, he could hardly catch his breath. He could feel latent warmth drifting off the hand Akira rested beside his waist on the mattress, even though it was simply there for balance. 

“I’m glad you came,” Akira told him from what sounded like across the room, his voice so unfailingly muted. The words sank into Akechi’s skin regardless. “You can stay, if you want. But I know you have to go.”

Akechi mashed his lips together. They were tingling, still. “I do. I’m — ” His hand rubbed at his eyelids until he saw sparks. “I hope…”

_I hope you don’t regret this._

_I hope you feel like I do, only better._

_I hope you still want this when you really know me._

He allowed his eyes to open to the dim air of the attic and bring the world back into focus. There Akira was, a mess of dark hair and flushed lips, a small, calm smile gracing them. Such lithe, simple features, such hidden grace and beauty, so easy to blend in and pass by. So unassuming, always. And despite that, here they were. Here he was, the singular point on Akechi’s map, the axis on which he had suddenly, unthinkingly, unknowingly begun to turn. 

“Tomorrow,” Akira said, the only response to what Akechi had left unspoken. 

Truthfully, though, it was all he needed to hear. 

“Tomorrow,” he agreed, and took Akira’s hand to help himself up.


End file.
